


I Feel Fine

by Corycides



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 11:24:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/978282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corycides/pseuds/Corycides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That thing wasn’t Bass, but every time it fell to pieces it was like losing him again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Feel Fine

World’s End

 

Just when you thought things couldn’t get any worse - the world would prove you wrong. It was snowing sideways, heavy enough that it was like someone had dropped a veil over the countryside, and Miles breath froze and crackled in his beard. He hunched down into his parka, defrosting his face with his breath, and slogged through the snow towards dinner/breakfast and lunch for the next week.

Second verse, same as the first.

The caribou lay on its side, flanks heaving and blood snorting from its muzzle in wet, bouncing droplets. Not dead yet. His aim was getting worse. He stepped in close, avoiding the thrashing legs, and sliced its throat.

‘Wasteful,’ the ghost of Bass commented, squatting down to watch the blood melt the snow and freeze in its place. A pale finger poked at the slush. ‘Remember Baltimore?’

Miles shuddered. He couldn’t forget Baltimore. Even whisky couldn’t cut the greasy, sickly good taste of that glut from his tongue.

‘No,’ he lied.

In the beginning he’d not spoken to the ghost, but the longer he was out here the happier he was for someone to talk to. Aaron and Rachel were fractals and sentience quotients, papering frantically over their cracks with science like that had ever worked.

‘So, still holding out,’ Bass said.

Miles grunted and started cutting, ripping the thick hide open and pulling out the steaming organs. It was warm work, butchery. The corpse was too big too drag back to their base, so he had to settle for steaks and sweetmeats. Bass watched, unusually quiet. Since he died, he tended to only speak when it was important.

‘Have you thought about our offer?’

Miles looked up, staring at the frail shell of light and stored memory full on for the first time. He’d seen Bass melt, skin and eyes and smile picked apart molecule by molecule. This wasn’t Bass, just the information on him the nanites contained.

‘Why you?’ he asked. ‘Why not Danny? Or Ben?’

A gloved finger rubbed over dry lips. It was a brutally familiar, unmistakably Bass gesture and it hurt Miles heart with doubt. How could the nanites have that mannerism? How could they have Baltimore or the time in Amsterdam Miles found out he was allergic to pot. Or they’d fucked...made love, whatever...precisely three and a half times.

‘They were before,’ Bass said. ‘When you switched off the nanites, they cleared the cache: no cookies, no passwords and no Danny, no Nora either. She always did have a terrible sense of timing.’

Frost crystals formed on the surface of the meat. Miles worked harder, unrolling oilskins from his pack and packing up the meat with proficient hands.

‘Bass would never have done this.’

Broad shoulders shrugged. The snow catching on his uniform wasn’t melting. ‘I disagree, and I know him better than you.’

Idiot. That never changed. Miles shoved the steaks in his pack and hoisted it up over his shoulder, grunting at the ache of old bones and fresh wounds. He turned and slogged his way back towards the base. For whatever reason - maybe just for an answer, though you’d think they could guess it by now - Bass walked beside him.

His feet didn’t crush the snow.

‘You don’t know him,’ he said, voice raw from the cold.

‘I am him.’

Miles spat. ‘You know who HE thought he was,’ he said. ‘I know...knew...Bass. He wouldn’t have bent the neck to you bastards.’

It was getting darker, the thin sliver of sunlight absorbed into the heavy night, and the integrity of the mask was starting to fail. That was how they had survived this long, clinging to the end of the world like a limpet. Since humanity had stopped generating quite so much lovely electricity, the nanites depended on solar power to get them though the day. Oh, an overcast day wasn’t going to slow them down. Out here though, on the ragged toenail of Alaska, the long, unforgiving nights meant they could only send compact, half-real suicide hives to try and undermine his conviction. It wouldn't last, the sun would come up eventually, but hopefully it would be enough time for Rachel to find an answer. 

‘Just go away before Rachel sees you,’ he said sourly.

The nanite-hive of Bass gave him a familiar, wry look. ‘You’d think she was ashamed of us. Our mother. Think about our offer.’

‘It’s not an offer. It’s walking like cows to the slaughter.’

There wasn’t much of Bass left anymore, a tilt of its head and the wisp of pale curls a suggestion of his brother. ‘We’ll let you live, until you stop.’

‘Die. It’s called dying. Or murder when you do it.’

‘You’ll have Charlie.’

‘It won’t be Charlie.’

‘Closer than a corpse, brother,’ it said. ‘Don’t be proud. Nowhere is dark forever and we are patient.’

It was gone, without waiting for an answer. Miles sat down on the icy stone stairs, ignoring the cold bruising his tailbone, until he was sure he wasn’t crying. That thing wasn’t Bass, but every time it fell to pieces it was like losing him again.


End file.
